All the President's Men
by Dixie Darlin
Summary: It's a race against time when President Vanellope is kidnapped early one morning, prompting the donut police to launch an investigation while Sour Bill anxiously steps up to temporarily run Sugar Rush. Buried secrets will be uncovered and loyalties will be questioned; all the while, Vanellope must use her wits in dealing with her unstable kidnapper. (ON HIATUS)
1. Red Alert

_I've been working on this fic for about a year now, wanting to perfect it before I decided to publish. I still have things to work out in later chapters, so don't expect regular updates for this one. Really happy with this one, so I hope you guys enjoy it._

* * *

**All the President's Men**

Vanellope woke up that morning like she did every other morning. It was an hour before the arcade opened, and she threw her pillow at her blaring alarm clock to knock it over and muffle it. The lump under the blankets shifted, then let out a few tired groans before the young president at last sat up, the blankets falling down off of her. Her half-opened eyes wobbled as she focused in her darkened room, her hair even more a mess than it normally was. She brought a hand to her mouth to hide a wide yawn, then she turned to carefully exit the bed.

Her bare feet hit the cold floor, the shock waking her up more. Vanellope shivered momentarily and grabbed one of the thinner blankets from her bed to wrap around her shoulders. All she had on was a little pink nightgown that hung loosely past her knees, and she honestly hated it simply because of the color, but it was more comfortable than sleeping in her hoodie and skirt all the time.

She shuffled through the mess in her room, mostly consisting of souvenirs that she'd brought home from her adventures to other games in the arcade: gold rings from Sonic's game and a bouquet of fire flowers from Mario that she kept forgetting to find a vase for just to name a couple. She and Ralph had gone to _Street Fighter II_ last night, one of their favorite hangout spots; she _knew_ she shouldn't have stayed up quite all night to watch the entire tournament, but it had been too good to resist.

Vanellope entered the bathroom that was directly connected to her bedroom and flicked on the light. She had to hold her hand up to shield her eyes from the brightness until she grew accustomed to it. She yawned again and scratched her side through her shirt while she smacked her lips. Water, she needed a glass of water before she did anything else. Her blanket dragged behind her, and she had to let it fall from her shoulders so she could use both hands to reach up to her small medicine cabinet that hung above her sink.

Like every other morning of her presidential life, she first stared at her reflection in the cabinet's mirror, noted that she really needed to quit staying up so late because red eyes were not very becoming for the leader of _Sugar Rush_, and then opened the cabinet to pull out her small water glass. On any other morning, she would have closed the cabinet and ran the tap water to fill it halfway with cold water so she could splash her face with it, then fill it up again to actually drink from it.

_This_ morning, when she closed the cabinet, she saw someone besides herself staring back at her in the mirror. Vanellope gasped and dropped her glass in the sink, breaking it into multiple shards. The shrouded figure behind her, wrapped in a patchwork blanket of candy wrappers similar to the ones Vanellope had slept in during her outcast days, swiftly snapped a snug cold ring around her waist.

"What are you doing, get off me!" the child screamed as she tried to glitch away from her attacker, only to find that she was unable to.

She fell sideways in her attempt to escape and landed hard on her hip. She cried out and in a panic began to shove at the thick, dark brown ring around her. Her large hazel eyes widened in fear when she read the all-too-familiar words "Glitch Proof" carved into the sides of it.

Vanellope snapped herself out of her stupor in time to look up and see the intruder raise up a small jawbreaker, one about the size of her head, up in the air. She screamed and kicked at the person's leg to knock them off balance. The figure groaned in pain (a deep groan, she noticed, so it must have been a male), and dropped the jawbreaker onto floor while he grabbed at his shin. Vanellope's mind reeled as she forced herself to stand, running out of her private chambers and out into the second floor's main hallway.

"Help! Help, someone help me _please_!" she screamed shrilly as she continued to push with all her might against the glitch-proof chain segment around her. She had no idea where it could have even come from as she had not seen it since her short time in the Fungeon (which she had refurbished into a giant pit of marshmallows for her and the other kids to bounce around in). She'd thought they had disappeared when King Candy had died, but obviously that wasn't the case.

Vanellope didn't have much time to properly think about this particular mystery as she could hear her attacker running behind her now, but not as fast as she was running. "Guards, help!" she called out again, and then she tripped on a wrinkle that was in the long rug than ran down the length of the hallway.

Her heart stopped when she started to fall, and the intruder caught up with her. Vanellope landed on her hands and knees, breathing heavily at the treacherous pink carpet. That was the last thing she saw before she felt something heavy slam her in the back of her head.

* * *

_"Code red, the president is in danger!"_

The Oreo guards had heard the cries for help coming from the upper floor of the castle, and they quickly filed into formation as they ran through the throne room and up the winding stairs. Sour Bill exited his own private bedroom, a small sleeping cap perched crookedly on his rotund head. His jaw dropped when he saw all the Oreo guards run past him, their spears aimed forward with an upward angle.

"Sire, the president needs our assistance!" he heard one of them tell him as they ran past, and Sour Bill felt his heart flutter with anxiety.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed as he dashed out to follow along behind the guards. A memory came to him from when _Sugar Rush_ had first been plugged in, back when Turbo had first come along. They couldn't let something like that happen again, couldn't let anything else happen to Vanellope.

The squadron of cookie guards stopped in their tracks, and Sour Bill accidentally ran into the back of the last one. He fell over and caught himself on his jellybean hands to keep from rolling around on the carpet.

"Why did we stop?" he demanded to know as he scurried alongside the guards to get to the front of the line. "We have to-"

The dour assistant paused mid-sentence when he saw what everybody else was looking at. The intruder stood before them at the very end of the hall right in front of a large picture window, carrying Vanellope's unconscious form in his arms. No one could make out the mysterious person's face under the cloak, and in a blink of an eye, he flew himself and Vanellope out the window with the aid of a glider he had on his back.

"No!" Sour Bill cried out, his small hands reaching out as if he could somehow will the president to come back to him. "Guards, get outside quickly and catch them!"

* * *

_"Code red, we repeat, code red!"_

Wynnchel and Duncan had been on patrol near the Licorice Fields when they heard the call over their walkie-talkies. Their hearts leapt in their throats at the thought of their beloved president being in danger.

"Full speed ahead, Dunc!" cried Wynnchel as he tore out on his motorcycle down the road back towards the castle. "Maybe we can catch the creep before he gets too far!"

Duncan always had trouble at first when the time came to go fast, and he wobbled in the road for a few seconds before he finally got his balance and sped after his eclair partner. "Wait for me!"

The two donut policemen zipped past several landscapes before getting the castle in their sights. Wynnchel heard the sound of sirens behind him, and he knew without having to look that it was the CLAWS team in their large utility vehicle. He was about to motion for them to split up when he got another call over the walkie-talkie.

_"The suspect has vanished with the president! He is no longer on castle grounds!"_

Wynnchel growled under his breath and he motioned for Duncan and the others to stop, turning his own motorcycle around so he could give orders. "CLAWS team! Go block the entrance to _Sugar Rush_! We can't have whoever this sicko is trying to get the president out of the game and potentially give her a game over!"

"Right, boss!" the team of Bear Claws donuts called out simultaneously, and they backed the truck up before turning around to speed off towards the game's portal.

"Wynnchel, what are we going to do!" Duncan was on the verge of crying, his hands flexing around his handlebars anxiously. "I can't stand the thought of Miss Vanellope getting hurt!"

"We're not going to let that happen!" Wynnchel snapped at him as he revved up his engine again to take off again. "Come on, let's split up and try to find this psycho before he gets too far!"

* * *

While the madness ensued at the castle, the cloaked figure took refuge in the safety of the shadows. Vanellope was still unconscious, her breathing slow and shallow as she lay cradled in her kidnapper's arms. The leg that Vanellope had kicked had developed a nice bruise, and it was hard to carry the little girl very far without having to stop and rub at the leg a bit before going on again. As long as they could make it to the hideout before she woke up and started screaming again, it would be all right.


	2. Dawn of a New Day

**All the President's Men**

"We failed."

Despite going by all the protocols and procedures, all the training that they had been programmed with, the security team of _Sugar Rush_ had failed to quickly rescue President von Schweetz. Duncan was completely useless, standing off to the side and crying. The guards had split up in different directions to scour all of _Sugar Rush_ in hopes of locating Vanellope.

Wynnchel was speechless, standing next to his bike as he stared out at the looming mountains of ice cream in the distance, trying to keep from thinking about how scared that little girl must be right now. Sour Bill approached him, clearing his throat softly in order to get the éclair's attention.

"Wynnchel, I feel like you're really the only person I can talk to about this," the sour candy began in his low voice. "The arcade is opening in half an hour. Luckily, her presidency skipped out on the roster race yesterday, so we don't have to worry about finding a quick replacement for her."

"That's all you're worried about?" Wynnchel glared at him through his sunglasses. "Whether or not her absence will be noticed by players?"

"Of course not!" Sour Bill snapped at him, then he looked around at the few guards that were around and lowered his voice. "Of course not," he repeated in a quieter, more even tone, "but it's my job as second-in-command to make sure this game functions correctly when she's not here. I can't have us getting unplugged."

Wynnchel blew out his breath and readjusted his tool belt. "Sorry, Bill, I'm just real wound up about this. This happened once before, and I couldn't forgive myself if something else happened to her."

"I know," Sour Bill murmured in agreement.

The two of them remembered very well when Turbo had snatched the sleeping Vanellope from her room on the night _Sugar Rush_ had first come to the arcade, forcing her to let him into the code vault or else he would drag one of her friends out of the game and kill them in front of her. She had cried for help then, but by the time the guards had found her, Turbo had already done his damage and made them all think that she was an evil glitch who wanted to destroy their game.

"What are we going to tell everyone?" Wynnchel asked out loud. "We can't have everyone in a panic."

"We're not going to tell them anything," Sour Bill insisted. "I'll handle the race announcements as usual and tell everyone that Vanellope has a virus."

"Better make it a contagious one," the éclair suggested. "That way no one gets any bright ideas to sneak to the castle and visit her in between game sessions."

"Yes," Sour Bill agreed. "If I know those kids, they will not want to risk their own health."

Wynnchel nodded, pulling out a string of licorice from his pouch to chew on. "You reckon we should tell Wreck-It about this? Seein' as how he's real close with-"

"No," Sour Bill said with insistence. "He wouldn't be any help anyway. He can't risk getting his own game unplugged _again_. Not to mention, he'll be worried all day and be too distracted to do his job properly."

"Yeah, guess you got a point there."

Wynnchel couldn't help but notice the sigh of relief coming from the green candy. "What's your problem, Bill?" He smirked lightly. "You still scared Wreck-It's gonna eat you alive or something? That why you really don't want him here?"

Sour Bill shuddered at the very thought. "Don't remind me of that awful day. And no, I was being serious about what I said earlier." He coughed into one of his jellybean hands before rubbing them together, generating a bit of heat in the chill morning air. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get down to the track and make the announcement before everyone gets worried."

"Right, right, and we'll keep on searching."

* * *

Vanellope's mind swam as she slowly regained consciousness. The large knot on the back of her skull was killing her, and she groaned as she forced her head up. She took a few deep, slow breaths as she blinked her eyes open, feeling rather groggy. The room she was in was unfamiliar to her; a large square room with no windows and one door that was positioned right in front of her. Everything was decorated in a white glossy material with small red and blue flecks in it, which reminded her of a jawbreaker candy.

Scratch that, it _was_ jawbreaker candy. Vanellope could just barely smell the hint of sugar in the air. Did this mean she was still in _Sugar Rush_?

She tried to stand up, but something pulled her back to her sitting position. She looked down and remembered the glitch-proof device secured around her waist. Now it was also attached to a long chain that was bolted to the wall behind and to the sides of her, much like how it had been rigged in the Fungeon. Fear crept into her as well as a wave of nausea, forcing Vanellope to lean forward and vomit on the floor in front of her. It was then that she noticed she was sitting on a broken piece of strawberry wafer which was being used as a mattress.

At least her kidnapper was making sure she was comfortable, she thought bitterly to herself. Not that she was going to be sending him a thank-you card.

She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her nightgown just in time for her to hear the door creak open. She immediately sat up straight, which was a mistake as any sudden movements were going to make her head hurt more. She hissed in pain as she held her hands to her head, squinting her eyes shut as a little tears formed in the corners of them.

"I see you're awake," a distorted male voice spoke. Vanellope opened her eyes to see the cloaked figure from before standing in front of the now closed door. "Oh dear, you messed up the floor."

"Who are you and why am I here?" the little girl demanded as she kept a hand on her head. "Turbo, is that you? If it is, you must be stupid to think you can get away with taking over my game again."

"No, I'm not Turbo."

Vanellope was both relieved and frightened upon hearing this. She was relieved of course that Turbo was not the one doing this to her, because that meant he was dead and gone like she'd hoped he was. On the other hand, if this _wasn't_ Turbo, that meant obviously someone else had a grievance against her, and she had no clue who that could be. The thought that someone she knew and saw everyday, and possibly was friends with, wished ill will towards her sent a cold chill down her spine.

If she couldn't trust someone she deemed a friend, who could she trust?

"So who are you?" the president ventured carefully, not sure what the mental state of this person was.

"A friend."

Vanellope had to scoff at that. "Yeah right, friends don't kidnap friends and lock them up."

The figure bristled visibly under the handmade cloak. Vanellope caught a glimpse of the large device covering his face, a black plastic piece with a breathing vent on the front. She could only assume it was a voice-changing device, since his voice definitely didn't sound normal. "You should be grateful that I didn't kill you."

"You can't kill me in my own game," she said flatly. "Come on, just let me go and I'll think about forgetting that this ever happened."

"I'm afraid that's not an option. You are to stay here where no one will ever find you. You will never see your friends again, Vanellope von Schweetz."

Vanellope felt her stomach sink. "You can't leave me in here forever! That's insane! My friends _are_ going to come looking for me, you doody head!"

"I'll be by later to bring you some food," the person told her while ignoring her outbursts. "I will make you as comfortable as I can, but you _must_ stay in here."

Vanellope's breath hitched in her throat as the person turned to leave, their hand grasping the door handle. She noticed the slight limp he possessed, a retainer from her kicking him earlier.

"Hey, get back here!" she screamed, frantically trying to push herself out of the chains and glitch away, though it was impossible to do. "Don't leave me here, please!"

The door slammed shut, a slight echo resounding in the room. Vanellope was all alone.

* * *

"Where's Vanellope?" was the first thing that entered Sour Bill's ears as he arrived at the track. He blew out his breath and shoved past Adorabeezle, who had been the one to ask the question, and he ascended the stairs that were inside Vanellope's announcer stand. Upon rising to the top, he grabbed the microphone, tested it, and then cleared his throat.

"Racers and citizens of _Sugar Rush_-""

"Hey, Adorabeezle asked you a question!" Taffyta exclaimed from below. "Vanellope's always here before the rest of us, even when she's not on the roster, so where is she!"

The other eight racers who were on today's roster all cried out at the same time, all of them demanding to see their beloved friend and ruler. Sour Bill groaned, wishing they would calm down and give him a chance to speak.

Little brats, they never knew how to be patient.

"QUIET!"

Everyone in the vicinity covered their ears and grimaced at the amplified yell, which echoed for a few moments before finally quieting down. Sour Bill coughed, annoyed that he had to raise his voice. "Now, if you will all listen…President von Schweetz has a virus," he relayed to them. "It's very contagious, and she is quarantined in the castle until further notice."

A round of startled gasps and worried mumbling filled the air. Sour Bill wiped at his rotund forehead, relieved that they had believed him. Then again, did he _really _have anything to worry about? King Candy lied to them for years and they believed every word he said. Wasn't much of a stretch to assume they'd believe _this_.

"She's not gonna Game Over from it, is she?" Gloyd asked out of concern, only to get swapped upside the head by Jubileena, who then hissed at him for saying something so rude.

"We don't know the full nature of the virus," Sour Bill droned on. "I assure you that we are all working hard to keep her as healthy as possible."

"Maybe Mr. Felix can come fix her?" suggested Snowanna as she adjusted the comb in her hair out of habit. "If his hammer can do that sorta thing."

"Or maybe Dr. Mario can come by!" Candlehead squeaked, her light on her candle briefly glowing brighter.

"Dr. Mario and Fix-It Felix Jr. have jobs to do and cannot risk putting their games out of order by visiting us right now," Sour Bill reminded them sternly. "I understand that you are all concerned for the president, but we can't endanger other people's lives."

Everyone groaned in unanimous disapproval. Sour Bill couldn't help being annoyed that they were being a little selfish, not taking other people's livelihoods into consideration. What else did he expect from children, though?

"Fine, they can come after the arcade closes," Rancis stated with a cross of his arms. "And if Vanellope isn't here to announce the start of the race, then who's to do it?"

Sour Bill gave the boy a very flat look, which really wasn't all too different from his other usual looks if one must be honest. "That would be me."

Another simultaneous groan from the crowd.

"I'd rather have King Candy come back to do it," Swizzle grumbled, and that earned him a very hard punch in the arm by both Taffyta and Snowanna, plus glares from everyone else. "What?" he shrugged sheepishly with a nervous chuckle. "I just meant for the day. Then he can die again or whatever."

Sour Bill hmph'd and narrowed his eyes at him, then addressed the group once again. "Like it or not, I'm afraid that's how things will have to be until the president is well again."

Candlehead kicked at the ground with her shoe, her bottom lip pouted out. "This stinks."

"**_QUARTER ALERT, QUARTER ALERT!"_**

The loud blaring announcement startled everyone, but they ran to their respective karts on cue, though not with their usual excitement. A heavy cloud of anxious worry weighed down on them, as if the joy of racing had disappeared along with their president.

"Everyone line up to the starting line," Sour Bill instructed them, trying to remember exactly what Vanellope would say before the race. Needless to say, he said it with much less gusto than she did. "Remember, race fair and it's all for fun."

Everyone rolled their eyes at him. It wasn't going to be much fun if they were all too concerned with Vanellope's welfare. They all felt empty without her there.


	3. Puzzle Pieces

**All the President's Men  
**

Vanellope hadn't meant to doze off. She wanted to stay alert in case the kidnapper came back; she didn't trust him to not harm her. Being asleep meant she was off her guard.

The smell of food woke her from her slumber, and she snapped her eyes open before promptly sitting up. The pain in her head had subsided enough to where there wasn't a constant throb anymore. Before her was a small plate that held a marshmallow chick pot pie on it. A fork was stuck in the middle of it and beside the plate was a small cup of milk.

It smelled delicious and her stomach rumbled in response. Vanellope was concerned the food or drink might be poisoned, but then she remembered that if she were to die in here, she would just regenerate at the_ Sugar Rush Speedway _starting line. The kidnapper wasn't going to risk letting her out of his clutches so easily.

"_It's not poisoned."_ The voice coming over a small intercom speaker in one corner of the cell startled her more than it should have. "_Can't have you dying on us."_

"Yeah, I figured that one out myself," Vanellope grumbled as she carefully picked the plate up to sit in her lap. The fork was halfway to her mouth when it stopped, her awaiting mouth closing again as she mentally replayed what the man had said. "_'Us'_? What do you mean, '_us'_? There's more than one of you?"

She didn't receive an answer and her stomach clenched. Could this be a conspiracy? Had there been a group of rebels brewing a plot right under her nose this whole time? Was she really that out of touch with her own people that she didn't notice? She wondered if there was perhaps a legitimate reason why this was happening to her...

_"You're reading too much into a common expression,"_ the man finally answered, his voice sounding calm but Vanellope could detect a hint of shakiness. He had flubbed up, she realized.

"I think not," Vanellope pressed on, hoping she could rattle him enough to make him spill a few more details. "I bet this wasn't even your idea. You're probably some lackey that got talked into this stunt by whoever the mastermind is. Well trust me, they won't win. Might as well 'fess up everything, pal, because my friends _will_ come hunting for me and-"

"_Silence!"_

The static feedback crackled loudly in the tiny room, the president wincing from it. She smirked lightly to herself though; she must have hit the nail on the head, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten so mad at what she'd said.

"What, did I say something?" Vanellope asked in a faux innocent voice, throwing in a helpless shrug for good measure. For all she knew she was being video-recorded as well so she might as well ham it up while the cards were in her favor. "Don't mind me, I'm only a helpless kid chained to the walls of a locked hidden room, what do _I_ know?"

Vanellope had hoped he would continue offering her free information but to her chagrin, the intercom stayed silent. The cheeky grin she had donned was now slowly falling into a worried one, and then it disappeared altogether.

"Big diaper baby, just gonna give me the cold shoulder now?" She tried to keep up her confident tone, but the isolation slowly began to eat at her. What if she'd made things worse for herself in taunting her kidnapper? What if she really was doomed to stay locked in here without anyone to even talk to for the rest of her life?

She scoffed at herself, shaking her head. She of all people should be accustomed to being alone; fifteen years of ostracization had prepared her for this. No, she was not going to lose her cool so quickly. If he wanted to play the quiet game with her, so be it. She wasn't going to let him break her.

Not this early in the game.

* * *

"_It's about time you called me with updates! Not that it's a good one...if I were there with you right now, I'd take a licorice whip to you."_

"_I'm sorry, sir, i-it just slipped out, I don't know how it happened. She didn't learn anything else, I swear on Candy's grave."_

"_So long as you don't let our names slip out, understand?"_

"_Why all the secrecy anyway? Does it really matter if she finds out who-"_

"_YES. It does matter. If she doesn't know who you are, the harder it will be for her to reason with you, and also it helps personally distance yourself from her."_

"_I understand..."_

"_If you had abducted her when I had told you to, we wouldn't be having this problem. You were supposed to grab her earlier in the night, not right before the arcade opened. I would've taken care of our business and then slipped her back into bed without anyone the wiser."_

"_I'm sorry, I…I overslept."_

"_This operation could have been jeopardized over your oversleeping! Regardless, I can't risk coming there and doing the job at the moment.I have to wait for all the fuss over her to boil over first. Don't engage in conversation with her again. Only tell her what I approve you can say to her."_

"_Y-yes, sir…"_

* * *

Wynnchel knocked on the glass separating him from the security booth stationed outside of the Kart Bakery. Beard Papa, the guard who was _supposed_ to be keeping an eye on the cameras, nearly flew out of his reclined chair, the Game Central Station newspaper that was resting in his lap now flying all over the booth. Wynnchel stood silent as the guard fumbled with cleaning up the mess, and he let out a deep sigh of impatience.

"Sorry about that, officer," Beard Papa yawned, his tiny eyes crinkling up in the process. If there was ever game character in the history of Litwak's arcade that could pass as Santa Claus, this guy would be it. "Wasn't expecting company."

"Ever consider drinking coffee?" Wynnchel suggested to the narcoleptic guard. "Or at least taking a few swigs from the Root Beer Creek down past Pretzel Pass if you had a chance."

"Oh that's all right, thank you, Mister Wynnchel," the old man said while patting his stomach, "but I don't have the figure for all the caffeine stuff!"

The police-pastry sighed again; conversations with Beard Papa were thankfully rare. The old man was friendly enough but he was practically a hermit out here on his own, and that type of lifestyle made a person seem more than a little kooky. Or maybe Wynnchel just didn't understand his aloof personality.

"Surely you've heard the news from the castle?" Wynnchel asked him, changing the subject back to more important matters.

"Nope, I don't have cameras there so unless someone calls me up or comes out here to visit me, I don't-"

"President von Schweetz was abducted from there this morning, just before the arcade opened."

Beard Papa stared up at him, his eyes the widest they'd probably ever been in his life. "You don't say?" He took off his cap and held it against his heart, now looking sadly at the ground. "Poor little girl, she's already been through so much. I hope she's all right."

"So do we all," Wynnchel nodded in agreement, taking a broad sweep of the bakery's exterior. "Ya think I can take a look around the joint? Just in case the kidnapper's hiding out here with her?"

The elderly guard snapped his head up, placing his cap back on his head before fiddling with his fingers. "Oh well if you think it's necessary…I haven't seen anything suspicious on the monitors though."

"No offense, but your cameras don't have access to every nook and cranny," the officer pointed out. "It'll only take a few minutes, and I'm not going to touch anything."

"W-well if you say so," Beard Papa said quietly as he allowed the barricade to raise up so Wynnchel could drive his motorcycle through. "I would think I'd notice a shady fella carrying the president around though."

"Yes, I'm sure," the éclair responded with an eyeroll, not trusting the old man's eyes at all. Never mind that he slept more half the day, it would be easy to sneak into the bakery. _Kinda like how the President did when she was still an outcast_, Wynnchel recalled with a sigh as he pulled up to the bakery's true entrance.

The mini-game associated with the bakery wasn't played very often, some days not at all; most kids simply picked the default kart that came with each racer. Wynnchel found the power switch and flipped it, lightening the expansive room where the karts were designed and came to life. The machines were for now still and quiet, the silence in the corridor overwhelmingly eerie.

Upon initial inspection, nothing seemed off about the place. Wynnchel whistled a tune to keep the silence from getting to him as he made a quick patrol around the main room. Everything seemed in order from what he could gather. The last stop was the small shed where the finished kart appeared once the mini-game was over; deciding it was better to leave no stone unturned, Wynnchel grabbed a hold of the bottom and tried to push it upwards, grunting in the process.

"Malt balls," he cursed under his breath as he promptly gave up the effort, stepping back and panting from the strain. "Gonna bust my inner jelly open if I keep that up."

"_Hey, officer!"_

The booming voice startled Wynnchel into a defensive posture, pulling his taser out and aiming it in front of him. His teeth were bared as his eyes darted around in search of his unexpected visitor, his finger trembling as it rested on the button that would bring the taser to life.

"_Oh, sorry about that! Dern speaker system really amplifies the ol' voice."_

The éclair relaxed considerably, groaning at his being so jumpy. Beard Papa was simply getting his attention with the bakery's loudspeaker system. This case was really driving his nerves, and he chided himself for not keeping himself together. Wynnchel pocketed the taser in his belt and wiped at the beads of melted frosting atop his brow.

"_Say, I was just thinkin', officer, about who could've done it,"_ Beard Papa kept rambling on. _"You don't suppose that King Candy, I-I mean Turbo, might have come back some how for revenge, do you?"_

Wynnchel was in the middle of rolling his eyes when he stopped, the realization dawning on him. Turbo? Wasn't he dead? The thought hadn't really crossed Wynnchel's mind to be honest. He was under the impression that since Turbo wasn't naturally part of _Sugar Rush_, that his death at Diet Cola Mountain was permanent.

Then again, Turbo was the only person that Wynnchel knew of that would want harm to befall their beloved president. But how would it be possible? The police-pastry wasn't an idiot but he knew there were things involving code that he did not understand, so maybe…

"_Just a thought, of course, just tryin' to help! He fooled us all before, he could've again!"_

"True," Wynnchel muttered as his thumb went to where his chin would be if he had one. "Perhaps a visit to the code vault is in order."


	4. In the Dark

**All the President's Men  
**

Sour Bill was most displeased at having been dragged away from his post in the royal booth where he was keeping an eye out on the races. Wynnchel and Duncan flanked his sides as they strolled towards the vault, Sour Bill slightly ahead of them.

"We're only going in for a moment," the dour second-in-command insisted as they approached the locked doorway. "Only the president has a right to access this room, but under the circumstances, I suppose it's all right for me to open it."

"We just need to check something," Wynnchel assured him; he didn't want to say anything about Turbo just yet. No need spreading around information that he wasn't sure was true, and then start a panic through _Sugar Rush_. "And I won't touch anything."

"Yeah, don't accidentally turn my icing pink or nothin'," Duncan added with a slight shudder.

Sour Bill sighed in exasperation. "Just hurry up," he said as he began typing in the code that he knew by heart, only because he'd seen Turbo do it so often. "I really should be watching the racers and making sure gameplay stays as normal as possible. For all we know, the kidnapper might thwart the race or kidnap another racer!"

Wynnchel hadn't thought of that. Some detective he was turning out to be. Maybe Sour Bill should be the one heading the investigation while _he_ watched the races.

No. No, being a police officer was in _his_ code, not Sour Bill's. This was his duty, his chance to serve his president in a way he never had before. It was time to owe her for all the years he had helped in tormenting her under King Candy's rule.

"Hmm what is going on?" Sour Bill muttered in confusion as the control panel failed to accept his password. He punched it again and again, the door staying sealed shut every time. "I don't understand."

"Maybe you remember wrong?" Duncan suggested.

"No, I remember it perfectly," the green candy snapped unexpectedly, a side that he had never displayed before. His eyes were narrowed and his frown deepened as he stood in contemplation. "She changed the code."

"What?"

"That's the only reason why the original password would be failing," Sour Bill explained as he turned around to face the two cops. "She didn't trust me with it…"

He seemed downcast about that, that Vanellope wouldn't give a new password to her own advisor. Did she think that perhaps he would betray again like he had before? Did she not trust anyone in _Sugar Rush_ at all?

Could they really blame her?

"It's okay, Billy," Duncan said kindly, patting Sour Bill's head like he were a puppy only to get his hand slapped away.

"No, it's not," Wynnchel protested, angry that his plan had failed. "We need to get in there and check the code! We need to make sure she's even _alive_!"

Duncan gasped in horror, his hands coming up to his mouth. "Oh no, don't say that!"

"She can't be dead," Sour Bill said as if that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "She'd have to be outside the game for that to happen. The C.L.A.W.S. team is still guarding the exit, are they not? There's no way they'd let anyone slip past them."

Wynnchel sighed heavily and took his sunshades off, rubbing between his eyes. "Okay, fellas, I wasn't going to say anything, but…I was thinking. What if you-know-who is back?"

The other two stared at him, Sour Bill in annoyance and Duncan in confusion. "You-know-who?" Duncan questioned.

"Turbo's dead," Sour Bill answered Wynnchel flatly. "The president and I checked the vault ourselves after she came back into power. We couldn't find a trace of his code anywhere."

Wynnchel wanted to believe him; he had no reason not to. But he'd feel better if he were in the vault checking that fact for himself. "The guy was smart, he could've concocted some way to bring himself back if he ever died," the éclair kept saying. "Besides, who else do we know of who hates President von Schweetz?"

"Ooh maybe someone's a King Candy sympathizer!" Duncan piped up, bouncing slightly like a little kid getting a pony for Christmas. "And they've been pretending to like the president this whole time but really they like the king more and now they kidnapped her out of revenge!"

"Like who exactly?"

"I dunno, Taffyta?" the donut shrugged. "She was the king's favorite, wasn't she?"

Sour Bill scoffed. "Taffyta? You really think a little girl did this?"

"It was just an idea," Duncan frowned, twirling his fingers together nervously.

"Knock it off!" Wynnchel felt like punching a wall except that would damage his delicate hands. "We need to work together if we're going to find Vanellope, she's counting us, men!"

The other two stayed silent, looking down at the floor. The stressful situation was eating away at all them. This couldn't compare to what their poor president must be going through though; Wynnchel didn't want to imagine what horrors she was facing.

Time was ticking away; they needed to find her.

"I say we investigate everyone," Wynnchel stated, taking charge of the room again. "We can use the royal booth for a private room and talk to the racers that are on the roster in between quarter alerts. That way we don't interfere with any gameplay. While the race is going on, we can investigate everyone else."

"Wait, the racers all think she's sick with a virus," Sour Bill suddenly pointed out. "If we start investigating them, they'll get suspicious."

Wynnchel thought for a moment. "Tell them we're screening them for signs of the virus to ensure that it hasn't spread. Bring them in one-by-one and start asking them what they were doing this morning, under the guise of being curious about their morning. If any of them start acting suspicious, separate them from the others."

Sour Bill nodded after thinking it over. So long as gameplay wasn't interrupted, therefore putting the game at risk for being Out of Order, he would agree to the children being investigated.

* * *

Vanellope had long completed her meal and was currently lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She blew her breath out tiredly, wondering how long she'd been in here. It'd been a while since her kidnapper had visited which was cause for some concern. At least when she was forced to live in solitude during her outcast days, she was able to roam around wherever she wished and had _some_ interaction with others.

Then again, that 'interaction' had involved being chased or hunted down or being bullied. Would she rather have that again compared to _this_?

The sole door in the room suddenly opened, scaring Vanellope into a sitting position. She barely had time to comprehend the sudden disruption to her time of loneliness when the shrouded kidnapper stormed into her line of sight, no longer limping from when Vanellope had kicked him a long time ago (minor injuries usually always healed within a few hours time), and stopped mere inches from her.

"Finished?"

"Huh?"

"With your meal," the kidnapper clarified with a tilt of his head towards the makeshift place setting.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm done."

"You sure?"

Vanellope stared at him, an uneasy feeling washing over her. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure," she said slowly, her brows coming together as she puzzled over what he was getting at. "What else am I supposed to be doing with it?"

The person under the cloak let out a raspy sigh. "Thought you'd be smarter than that," he mumbled almost inaudibly as he gathered the plate, cup, and fork that was used for her meal in his arms.

Vanellope blinked, not sure what to make of that. Had she done something wrong?

The kidnapper never expanded on his earlier statement, though he did sit cross-legged on the floor about four feet in front of her. Vanellope's hair rose on the back of her neck, not sure if she liked him being getting comfortable like that around her.

"Uh…so the pie was good," she said to him, thinking he wanted her to say something. "Seems like I've had it before, but I can't really remember ever eating it."

"I've never made it before," the stranger admitted. "I didn't even have a recipe on hand. Somehow it seemed right to make it for you though."

This particular visit was getting more bizarre by the second. "All right, I want some answers. Why are you going through all this trouble for me? Why feed me or throw a mattress in here for me?" Vanellope asked as she patted the cushioned wafer she was still sitting on. "Am I supposed to know who you are? Do you even want to be part of this crazy scheme? Why are you being _nice_?"

Her barrage of questions was met with silence. A drop of sweat rolled down the young president's face, the mystery becoming unbearable to her.

"What is the password for the code vault?"

She blinked at the question, not having expected that. Several questions ran through her head. First, had he ever known the _original_ password? Second, if he had known it, did he figure out that she had in fact changed it, meaning he had already tried accessing it? The only other people who had known it were Sour Bill and Turbo. This guy couldn't be Sour Bill since he was much too tall and didn't have the right body shape; the person talking to her was more human in appearance from what she could tell from his silhouette.

Maybe he really was Turbo and he'd lied to her when he said he _wasn't_ him. But why would Turbo keep his identity hidden from her, especially now that she was in his clutches? He seemed the type that would boast and brag in her face that he had successfully abducted her, not hide behind a handmade cloak. He also certainly wouldn't fool with making her comfortable.

On the other hand, maybe he had never known the original password in the first place. In that case, she could simply lie and give him that one in order to waste his time. Sure, that meant risking him getting angry enough to punish her, but it was still better than giving him the real code.

"Why do you need to know it?" Vanellope first asked him.

"You're not in a position to argue or compromise."

"Listen, bub, I'm still ruler of this game, and I think you owe me an explanation for why you need to get into the game's code."

"I…I cannot discuss that with you."

He sounded nervous now. Vanellope grew a bit bolder, thinking she could push him into giving her what she wanted.

"Why not? It's not like I can spill any secrets to anyone while chained up," she pointed out while rattling her manacles. "You scared that whoever you're working with will find out and punish you or something?"

He bristled under his robe, his fists clenching up. "Just tell me the code. It's for the best."

"If you think I'm gonna freely hand it over, you're bonkers."

Standing up now, the stranger towered over her, his body shaking visibly. "I'm not in the mood for the games," he growled through the voice-changing mask he wore.

"Too bad; you _live_ in one," Vanellope quipped smartly. "If ya don't like games, then you picked the wrong-"

Her head flew to the side as her kidnapper's palm connected with her cheek, her bangs swishing in her eyes. A shocked whimper escaped her, and she involuntarily pressed the coolness of her own hand to her hot, reddened cheek, the chains rustling when she moved her arm. Vanellope's tearful eyes glanced up at the cloaked stranger warily, inching back away from him the most she could given her shackles' limitations.

The tension grew thick between them, the young president nearly choking from it. The kidnapper did nothing, only stood there with his hand curled up in mid-air as if he'd paused after slapping her. Suddenly he drew his hand back, his posture slumping over as he started backing away from her, looking back at her and the door in the process.

"Sorry, oh my goodness, sorry," he muttered over and over until he finally reached the door and quickly escaped. He slammed the door behind him and locked it, leaving the girl behind once more.

Vanellope's fear subsided as confusion replaced it. He was apologizing? The guy who had abducted her, slapped a glitch-proof chain around her, knocked her out with a mini-jawbreaker, and then forced her to stay in this dungeon was apologizing for having slapped her? It seemed more than a little odd that slapping her would be the one thing he felt sorry about.

"Well you're_ definitely_ not Turbo," she mumbled as she curled up on the mattress, her chains making it nearly impossible for her to get comfortable. "Who _are_ you?"

* * *

As soon as he slammed the cell door, the man pressed his back against it to steady himself, his hands curled together as he shook. He'd slapped her, the least of his crimes, yet he'd been overwhelmed with such guilt upon doing it. Why?

He removed the cloak and the voice-changing device he wore over his face as he usually did when out of the president's line of sight, breathing easier now. He wiped at his face with a trembling, clammy hand.

It was those dreams, those strange, unfinished flashes of scenes almost like clips from a home movie that played in his mind without warning. His mind couldn't process why he was having them, and the scenes never played out to their full extent before they vanished. All of them involved Vanellope though, that was the one key element that united the visions.

But why? They had no relationship with each other, they barely conversed, much less saw each other.

He was having these dreams for a reason though, he felt. It felt...wrong somehow to deal with her harshly. Against his code even.

But she was the enemy, and he had a job to do. Once everything was set in place, he'd be done with her.

Why did that make him so sad?


End file.
